


The Incident

by srmarybadass



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the prompt: What did Murdock do to deserve Pike referring to him as "the asshole"? Bonus for Pike/Murdock!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Incident

Everyone noticed when Pike showed up on base one day with a shiny red convertible.

How the hell he managed to get a car like that in the middle of a desert, nobody would ever know. Hannibal suspected it had something to do with Black Forest's ill-gotten gains. Face was just impressed. 

Everyone on base wanted the car, but Hannibal Smith and his crack unit wanted it especially bad. Hannibal wanted it for use in his many, many plans. Face wanted it to pick up chicks. BA wanted to protect the beautiful vehicle from the ravaging sands. And Murdock....

Well, Murdock didn't care much about cars either way, unless they flew, but he found himself staring at the driver, who definitely had the whole "evil is sexy" thing going on.

"Don't even think about it," BA said gruffly, as the team watched the car go by with wide, longing eyes.

Murdock was _so_ thinking about it.

"Come on, boys, back to quarters." Hannibal sounded even more depressed than that time the doctor had forbidden him to smoke for a week. They all followed -- Face with puppy eyes -- but Murdock was slyly plotting. He was going to get into Black Forest's section of base. He was going to get that car for his team.

And he was going to get some action out of the deal, too.  
****************************************************************************************************  
Brock Pike was driving back to base from what pitiful excuse Iraq had for a city when he saw a figure standing by the side of the road, sticking out his thumb.

A hitchhiker...in the middle of a desert.

The sight was so bizarre he pulled up next to the man -- who was probably American, if his Hawaiian shirt and baseball cap were anything to go by. He looked vaguely familiar.

"The hell you doing out here, pal?" he asked. 

"My team left me," he said, and he was definitely American, what with the hint of Southern twang and all. "They said I had to walk back to base."

"Some team," Pike muttered, looking up at the baking sun. Even in the evening, it was dangerous. "What'd you do to deserve that?"

"I spilled cayenne pepper sauce all over their burgers." Pause. "On purpose." Another pause. "And then they ate them."

Pike chuckled. _Classic._ "What's your name, bud?"

"Murdock," Murdock grinned zealously.

The name clicks. "You're one of Hannibal Smith's men, aren't you?"

"Yessir!"

"I've heard of you guys," Pike said, grudging admiration creeping into his voice. "You're the ones who always come up with the batshit plans for covert ops."

"I don't know about the plans, I just fly the chopper."

"Were you the one who did the barrel roll last week?"

Murdock nodded. "Nothing special 'bout it. Done it before."

"Impressive," Pike said, reaching across and opening the door. "Hop in. You just earned yourself a ride back to base."

"Nice car," Murdock all but purred, running his hands along the leather seats. 

Pike was momentarily distracted by that, but he gathered his bearings with remarkable speed and gunned the engine, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

******************************************************************************  
Murdock chattered on the entire drive, and Pike found it...well, _charming_ wasn't quite the right word, and he didn't use words like that anyway. The hum of Murdock's voice blended pleasantly with the hum of the engine.

When they got back to base, however, Murdock, who had been peering out of the open-top car intently, suddenly ducked and crouched on the floor of the passenger seat.

"The hell?" Pike asked. He hadn't heard gunshots or any other sort of alarming noise -- they were on _base_ , for crying out loud. The only thing he could really hear was very angry yelling, and that was as usual. He looked down at his very strange passenger, who put a finger to his lips in the universal _shush_ sign. His great big eyes pled for Pike not to give him away. And while Pike was relatively able to resist puppy eyes, something about Murdock's finger pressed against his mouth made him want to do whatever the pilot said.

He looked over in the direction of the shouting. A large black man with a very odd hairdo was yelling at the figure he clearly recognized as Hannibal Smith -- the silver hair and cigar were unmistakable.

"I swear, Hannibal! The minute that crazy fool shows up here, I'm going to-"

"You're going to let him apologize and ten you are going to watch what he cooks very, very carefully from now on," the legendary commander attempted to soothe.

"No, I'm going to _whoop_ his _ass!_ "

"Guys, you're making a scene," the handsome guy standing next to the complained.

Pike quickly drove on, and once they were out of sight, Murdock popped up again. "Was that Hannibal Smith's legendary A-Team?"

"In the flesh," Murdock affirmed. "Crap. They're going to be pissed for _hours_. I'll have to sleep in the supply tent again."

Pike blinked. "The supply tent?"

Murdock nodded. 

"That's harsh, buddy." He thought for a minute, realized he was making what would probably be a poor life choice, and then ignored that little self-help voice. "You want to come back to my quarters? I've got a spare futon."

Murdock thought about it for a minute. "Sounds nice!" he exclaimed.

.....nice.

_Yeah_.  
**********************************************************************************  
Murdock whistled, low and long, upon entering Pike's tent. "Sweet setup you got here. Nobody on our side of the base has anything like this."

"Yeah, well, there are certain benefits to working for a private organization, as opposed to the United States military." He dropped the car keys on a table and shrugged off his protective jacket. "Better pay. Choice of missions. And Black Forest doesn't give a damn about my personal life, as long as it doesn't interfere with the quality of my work." He looked at Murdock, who was generally poking around, eyes as wide as a kid in a candy store. "Oh, that's the-"

" _Liquor cabinet_!" Murdock exclaimed with glee. He reached in and started grabbing certain bottles, and two glasses.

"Sure, help yourself," Pike grumbled under his breath. Then, slightly louder: "Do you know how hard it is to get that stuff out here?"

"About as hard as good Cuban cigars," Murdock replied, uncapping a bottle of vodka and sniffing it. "Don't worry. I'm gonna make a little something I call a Murdocktail."

The guy was nuts. He was fucking _nuts_.

"Yeah, well, don't touch the bourbon," Pike told him, flopping down on the couch and checking his phone for messages as Murdock haphazardly threw something together in the background, humming under his breath the whole time. Pike wondered how the hell he got into situations like this.

After a few minutes of frantic preparation, Murdock pranced proudly over to the couch and handed Pike a glass of funky-colored liquid.

"Bottoms up!" Murdock grinned, and chugged his. Pike tossed his own drink back with a little trepidation. As the case was, he needed a lot of trepidation.

" _Fuck_ ," he choked, years of experience with alcohol the only thing stopping him from spitting it out. "What the fuck went _into_ this? _Antifreeze?"_

Murdock looked offended. "Of course not! I only use it for marinades."

How the hell was this guy still in the army?

"You could use this to Molotov shit, I swear," Pike said, gulping the rest as fast as he could. It went down easier than the first sip, partially because he suspected his taste buds had been burned off.

"The Murdocktail was designed and engineered to get someone as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time with as few resources as possible," Murdock explained. "As they say, necessity is the mother of invention. And I invented these when I had five minutes alone in my doctor's private office. See, if I had taken an entire glass of, say, vodka, you would notice a dip in the bottle. But a little bit off the top of everything? Stealth drinking!" He hiccuped. "And it's _strong_. Stronger than the sum of its parts."

Maybe it was the alcohol already affecting him, but...that actually made _sense_. And Pike knew that when things still made sense, you weren't drunk enough, so he drained his glass and made a grab for the nearest bottle of alcohol. Tequila, as it happened. Good shit, right there.

A mysterious amount of time later -- Pike had lost track, but he was pretty sure it was dark outside -- and they were both severely drunk. Murdock, it turned out, was a very interesting drunk. Also, excellent at shadow puppets.

"'m not _drunk_ ," he insisted. "I'm _tipsy_. There's a _difference._ "

"You had a conversation with my left shoe," Pike slurred slightly. "Think that counts as drunk."

"Nahhh. I do stuff like that _alllll_ the time." He nearly tripped over his own tongue. "Besides, your shoe was real friendly." Suddenly, he sat up straighter and started unbuttoning his garish Hawaiian shirt, fingers clumsy but effective. "Hot in here." He giggled. "Ish getting hot in heeeere...so take off all your cloooothes...."

"Put that back on," Pike gave a token protest.

_"Nuuuuu_ ," Murdock insisted, flinging it off. "I'm _hot_."

"Yes, you are," Pike mumbled under his breath, alcohol lowering his inhibitions -- not that he had many in the first place -- as he gaped openly at Murdock, who still had a black undershirt on. But _damn_ it was a nice undershirt. And _damn_ he wanted to get under that shirt.

"It's not nice to stare," Murdock informed him, and suddenly he was tripping over _Pike's_ tongue.

Pike made a surprised noise as his mind caught up to his body, which currently had a lapful of military personnel. A second after he noticed that, he realized he was kissing Murdock back, hard, hands tangled in his shaggy, non-regulation hair, thoroughly evicting every trace of that disgusting alcohol from their mouths.

Murdock whimpered against Pike when the mercenary yanked his hair a little roughly. The noise shot right to Pike's already-hard dick and he found himself thrusting blindly upwards, only to discover Murdock's hips were pinning him down pretty effectively. But it didn't really matter, what with Murdock being just as turned on as he was and rubbing up against him like a cat in heat.

" _Fuck_ ," Pike groaned at the delicious friction. He ran his hands up the back of Murdock's undershirt, feeling the clench and twitch of every muscle in his strong, broad back. He dug his nails in for good measure, and Murdock gasped loudly, biting down on Pike's neck in return. 

_Army strong_ , indeed.

They were both drunk off their asses and Pike, for his part, hadn't gotten any lately -- too busy with work -- and Murdock...well, it was rather hard to get gay-sexed while stationed on an army base. _In Iraq_. These facts, combined, meant that neither of them were able to last very long, and when Murdock accidentally sliced his lip open while getting overzealous with his teeth, the twist of pain shot through Pike's body along with a wave of pleasure and he came in his pants and up against the pilot, swearing a blue streak. Murdock followed moments later, and slumped down onto his chest.

"Don't wanna get up," he mumbled a few minutes later, when both of them had stopped panting.

"Don't have to get up," Pike muttered, already comfortable. Fortunately, the sofa was very large. 

Sated, he drifted off to sleep relatively quickly.

Murdock waited until Pike's breath had evened out before lifting his head and slowly crawling off the mercenary. He yawned and stretched, cracking his neck. He had, in fact, given Pike a straight-up Murdocktail, but for himself, he had made a Murfaketail, which consisted mainly of water, with just enough alcohol to color it. Grinning zanily to himself, he snatched the car keys off the table and headed for the exit. A thought struck him, and he turned around, grabbing as many bottles of liquor as he could carry out of the tent.

Mission accomplished.

*************************************************************************  
Pike woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a missing red convertible.

_Fucking military fuckers._  
*************************************************************************

Hannibal, BA, and Face woke up to Murdock presenting them with several bottles of expensive liquor. It distracted them enough so that they didn't comment on the mysterious marks on Murdock's neck.

"Nice haul, Murdock," Hannibal grinned. "But how'd you get it?"

"Face ain't the only one capable of pulling a scam," Murdock replied, lips quirked. He pulled a keychain out of his pocket and dangled it playfully.

The morning light glinted off it beautifully. Face and BA's jaws dropped.

"Murdock..." BA began slowly. "What's that the key for?"

"Go out back," Murdock said. "And you'll find out."

Face got up first and stuck his head out to the storage area behind their quarters. He whooped with joy and popped back in.

"Hannibal," he said, voice a few octaves higher than normal, in the excitement. "Next time you need a real classy vehicle, we've got one."

Their erstwhile leader, already sipping from the bottle of Scotch, patted the pilot on the back. "Good work, Captain."

Murdock smiled, content.

Mission _totally_ accomplished.


End file.
